The Battle for Mudos
by Slig
Summary: A decade after the new Mud queen was reinstated, the economy is spiraling into a depression. The Magog Cartel is desperate to have her back, even if they must start a war. When the lines of friend and foe are blurred, which side is truly right?
1. Unbalance

Disclaimer: Oddworld and all its characters belong to Oddworld Inhabitants. I'm just borrowing some characters and making a few of my own and all that. Silox, which you will meet later, are my creation, however.

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A/N: It's highly recommended that you read Vula's Oddysee and Gabby's Song before you start this one. The chapters should be a bit longer than my others (at least I hope they are). This story will contain gobs of violence, language, and whatnot throughout. There will be very, very slight innuendo in this chapter, but it's not until near the end and is written so that it shouldn't offend anyone. And if it does... kindly put a sock in it!

I want to give a quick shoutout to Mable, who actually spawned the IDEA for the entire story by something she said. I won't say what exactly, but I want to thank you for giving me the idea anyway! O: 3 She's also the one who has been nice enough to review my chapters so far and I think you VERY MUCH FOR THAT. Seriously. There were a few times I almost decided to stop writing. Huh huh. Anyway, I'm sure you're sick of this.

Onto chaptuh one!!

The Battle For Mudos

BOOK ONE: Static

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CHAPTER ONE: Unbalance

Ten years have passed since Vula went to search for a new queen; since a female Gabbit was found in Ma'Spa; since a strange creature was dumped into the hands of a pair of Vykkers; since a Glukkon sought out his own past to change his future. Ten long years of a constantly brewing and building storm. Both sides prepare for a terrible and unavoidable war, one that will decide the fate of all Mudos. Yet the lines of good and evil are not necessarily clear; because in the end, "we must all look within if we want to be free." Angel

It was before sunrise, a time where the earth and the infinite sky contrasted themselves in a battle of light and dark. The earth and all visible surface was black. In the distant, eastern horizon, the black faded slightly as the sun dared to approach the horizon line. It was not visible, but its light filtered through the blackness of the earth and lightly touched upon the mountains. The sky itself was opposite - a blaze of blues and orange. Towards the zenith, the sky had yet to lose its midnight-blue. However, further out, the sky grew lighter, until it shone as bright as it did in daytime. Darker clouds peppered the sky in little blobs, their undersides glowing red with the sun's intense light. Further in the distance, the clouds seemed to mass together into a glowing carpet of red and gray-blue. As the sun dared to inch higher, higher points of land began to glow red-orange. Tall pines were illuminated, each needle basking in the light.

In the distance, a line of silhouettes seemed to sneak along the base of a hill, keeping well hidden where the shadows were thickest. Behind them was a small, noisy cart led by a pair of shuffling Elum. The silhouettes slowed, hidden by the pine trees. There were six of them, minus the Elum, and each was whispering to one another urgently. Some were a good deal shorter than others, but all of them were dark cloaks that only covered their top half.

The leader spoke. He was taller than the others, although not by much. He lowered his head a little, hissing to the others.

"A'right," he said quickly. "We only have a chance ta do this once. So let's get it done."

One of the shorter ones scoffed, an odd, red light coming from the inside of its mask. He didn't seem used to whispering.

"Tch. We've done all this b'fore. Simple exercise. So lead the way, cap'n."

The leader snorted, but stood up straighter and peered around one of the pines. Built into the side of a hill was what resembled the entrance to a bunker. It was constructed of gray stone, and the opening was small. The shorter one from before peered underneath the leader.

"Ya said this place was uh.. inhabited di'n't yer?" he hissed.

The leader nodded.

"'Course I did, they're inside, shorty. Now get back. Ya know what to do."

The shorter one did as he was instructed and backed up. Suddenly his demeanor changed. He backed up a little and picked up a rifle, which had been hidden at his side. He raised it up so it was parallel to his head, and raised his other hand, gesturing with hand signals. One follower, as though practiced, got behind him quickly. Another hand signal and a second follower moved outward, further away from the group, low to the ground, in a semicircle towards the bunker. A third signal, and the third along in much the same fashion - but in the opposite direction.

The last one, a creature slightly larger than the one giving signals, crept up alongside the first. The leader glanced at them, then waited several moments. A beep came from his hip, and the leader picked up the small radio and listened.

"Quarky, in position. Over.," whispered the crackled voice. Then.

"Yhalo2, in position. Over."

"Vendo, in position sir. Over."

The leader grinned, and pressed the button, speaking into it.

"Good. See anything? Over."

"Not a thing sir." came the reply. "Place looks dead. Over."

"Right then," said the leader. "Move. Over and out."

The radio shut off. The leader stepped behind the two shorter, who apparently seemed to both have weapons, and let them go first. The short ones moved in, weapons at the ready, halting on either side of the entrance. There was a nod between them. Suddenly the two burst through the doorway, weapons first. Behind them came Varg, holding a torch.

"A'right, don't anyone move!" one of them snarled, peering through the darkness.

There were only two sligs. One was sleeping at the table while the other was only half awake. He stared blankly into the light.

"What the hell d' ye want?" one asked, covering up one red eye. "And who're yas?"

The two in the doorway might've grinned. Or maybe they didn't.

"Just yer wake up call!"

In a moment the two sligs were completely outnumbered and surrounded, then dragged out into the open. Both protested, although held at gunpoint, there was nothing they could do.

"So," said the leader, arms folded over his well-hidden chest. "What's been up with you guys lately. Haven't heard much from the... Industrialists."

The two sligs glanced at one another.

"Uh.. whaddaya mean? We's just normal security.. we dunno nothin' about that. 'Less Jerry here knows somethin."

The slig known as Jeffrey perked up.

"I dunno nothin' either, don't pin this on me!"

One of the cloaked creatures stepped forward, gun barrel pressing right up against the slig's head.

"I suggest yer get talkin, slig, 'r else I'm gonna have ta shoot yers."

The slig peered into the red glow of the hood, eyes wide.

"But yer one o--" The slig was cut off immediately, as the gun was drawn back and the butt of the rifle cracked over his head. The slig yelped, dropped down, hydraulic pants hissing as he clutched his now-bruised head.

"A'right!" the other slig jumped up immediately. "We was sent out here to guard this here bunker 'cause there was rumors you Radicals was sneakin' around out here!"

The leader snorted, "Oh really? That all?"

"Yeah.. I dunno anythin' else! Honest!"

The slig that had been injured hadn't moved.

"So whatcha guardin'?" asked the one above him, the one who had hit him.

"Not muc-"

"I CAN'T HEAR YERS!" The other snarled, butt of the gun colliding again with his head.

The slig yelped louder.

"I said ..we're guarding supplies.. and some weapons.. nothing else."

The other didn't seem impressed.

"Why they holdin' shit out here for?"

There was silence. The butt of the gun crashed once more over the slig's head, and the other spoke for him.

"The economy's gettin bad and we knew youse radicals'd be out here trying ta steal food. This food was originally meant for any Gluk's wantin' ta hide out here. That's all we know! Now let us go!"

The leader eventually turned his back. He thought hard for several moments, digesting the informative juices. A slight breeze picked up and the sun began to rear its great golden head over the horizon. He had to make his decision.

"Kill them," said the leader. "And let's get out of here."

The two armed, cloaked ones did grin inside the hoods this time, before aiming and firing. The volley of bullets hit two silent targets. Blood was spilt that early morning. But the group was not unnerved. In fact, this seemed like a daily chore to them. The group moved single file inside the bunker, bringing out food and other supplies. They loaded it onto the empty Elum cart, and, piling onto it themselves, headed away before the sun had climbed over the top of the mountains.

-----

We must journey far, far from the terrible murders of that morning, to a place overseas. A place where no slig would dare trod unless assigned to work there. We must travel to the slig hatchery. Built much like a factory, this slig hatchery was less foreboding than a typical glukkon factory. In fact, it merely looked like a vast complex. However, upon closer inspection, it seemed as though something terrible lurked within its bowels. Located on a great, wide plain, it could be easily spotted for miles.

What lived and lurked inside the great factory was not a glukkon. To sligs, she was far more frightening than any glukkon could ever hope to be. She was their terrible godhead of a mother. Her name was Skillya, and the almighty queen slig seemed suspended over a mighty cauldron. Her abdomen was curved greatly, and suspended by a harness of sorts that held her against the large arch. At the end of her abdomen, a pair of sligs waited, hiding their grimaces from one another as well as from Skillya. They were waiting for an egg, a cushion-lined cart between them. Her head and thorax, if it could be called that, was small compared to the rest of her.

In the head and face, Skillya resembled a slig. However, she was maskless, and much older-looking. Years of age and stress was obvious in her face, which seemed to droop and hold in it a terror no slig was willing to face without pay. The jointless tentacles in her face were large and long, drooping a good deal further than her offspring's. Her head and body were covered with dark splotches, and as though to compare her massive size, a lone slig scrubbed her with a sponge connected to a long broomstick. He would stop, dip the sponge in water, and continue. Skillya took no notice, long, spindly fingers wrapped around a large, metal spoon.

Skillya appeared deep in thought. Her thick brows furrowed as she frowned into the soup, steam clouding up and cleansing whatever it was she had for facial pores. She great, black eyes shone with distaste as she dipped a finger into the soup. She raised it to her jaw, hidden under the massive tentacles, and tasted the soup.

There was an exhale, and another moment of silence, before Skilla licked her lips and shook her head. Then Skillya shivered. The typical pain in her abdomen returned. She hissed, body wracked with pain. Right on schedule. The egg passed, easing its way out of her before landing on the cart. The hot egg was then looked over by the sligs. They didn't dare touch it. It was slimy, semi-soft, and covered with some brownish liquid that smelled odd. They merely pushed the cart off and were gone. Skillya breathed a sigh of relief. Long ago were the days when she felt ashamed of exposing herself, of dropping eggs like hourly bowel movements in front of her own.

Like all queens, she was a slave to profit. In a way, there was a small amount of empathy shared between each of them. From the Glukkon queens to the Mudokon queen, to even herself. While none of them got along, each knew they were nothing more than slaves themselves. But each had their place. Mudokons were slaves, the lowest ranking indeed. Sligs were service drones, but a bit more fortunate than the Muds. Glukkons controlled everything. At least, that was as far up as the known chain went. In reality, the chain went even higher, further beyond even Skillya could comprehend.

The room she was in was vast, but there were several windows above that allowed light to enter. They could be covered when she no longer wished for it. Oh, but there was always her days when she wished for light. She wanted to be out there. In the sun, in the rain - it didn't matter. Maybe even go shoot a few runaway slaves with her offspring. But her offspring. The little runts were nothing more than nuisances, bringing her terrible pain and rage and the unfortunate sliglet was often eaten in her wrath. The windows were open and sun shone brightly upon her features, basking her in warmth and filling her with her typical rage.

It was that moment that a tiny light flashed in the corner of her eye. A slig entered the room, clearing his throat as he came. He looked rather different from the other sligs, if only slightly. In build, he was larger, his tentacles longer and thicker, and his mask and pants were much different. While they looked similar, they were made of better material. The slig was a drone - a male drone, and he had a look about him that suggested he be treated with respect.

"What is it?" Skillya asked, irritation mounting in her. She gripped her spoon tightly.

The slig spoke slowly, "Ya got a messenger, ma'am."

Skillya rolled her eyes. "Is it important?"

"OH yes," the slig assured her. "Definitely. You'll wanna listen to 'im I think."

"Fine, fine... Just send him in." She wanted to get back to her soup, and to her bath.

The male slig left the room, and moments later a much smaller, younger, genderless worker class slig replaced him. The slig looked downright terrified, his rifle removed from his person and any form confidence drowned out by the other sligs in the room - most of them male drones. Each of them eyed him with a look that suggested little more than indifference, but the slig knew he could've been trounced in a second by these more masculine creatures. But Skillya terrified him most of all. Skillya could, with a single look, have him killed, or even worse.

"Well?" Skillya sneered, stirring her soup. "Spit it out, slig."

The slig swallowed. Never before had he to face the queen, but he knew there was no choice.

"M'lady, I'm sure yer aware of the uh, droppin' population?" He had to be careful of his choice of words; Skillya tended to act out in anger.

Skillya sniffed. "Of course I know. I've been doubling my laying just to keep up! Have you any right to remind me?!"

The slig cringed. "Uh, n-no ma'm. I'm only here to tell you that it's gotten worse. Sligs are droppin' left and right... the Radical party's gettin' more violent with their demands an' all.."

Skillya snapped at him.

"Wonderful! I'll just lay MORE eggs then! Be thankful, you little slave, you'll never know what it's like!" Then she fell silent. Finally, her voice calmed, sweetness tinged with a bitter chill. "I apologize... my anger is preceeding me.. do come a little closer so I can... apologize."

The slig's eyes went wide behind his mask. He stepped forward, hydraulics causing the usual wheeze and hiss of each step. But this time they were like roaring, screaming, in his ears and he wanted to turn and run, run far away from the terror he could only call his mother. As he edged closer, he noticed the intense size difference between himself and Skillya. Skillya made three of him in size in just her head and torso alone. The rest... he probably could've fit fifty of himself inside of her. Not that he'd ever want to try that.

As he edged closer, Skillya was no longer watching him. She was studying her soup.

"I was hoping for your assistance, slig," said Skillya. "My soup has been a bit ... empty these past few days. Perhaps you can tell me what it needs."

The slig was not necessarily smart, but his instincts kicked in and a cold sweat erupted over him. His stomach soured and his heart pounded as he stepped closer and closer to the giant female slig.

Skillya's arm snaked towards him, wrenching the struggling slig from the ground and ripping his pants away from him. The slig yelped, body much too weak to fight. She slung the poor slig into her boiling soup, tossed his pants aside, and stirred the soup. The slig emerged, choking, howling, screaming in a way that no slig should ever scream. His body was covered in dark green, blistering burns, many of them reopening as he was pushed deeper into the viscous soup. The slig's struggles became weaker, cries twisting into a single moan of agony.

Skillya did not seem to hear him. She stirred continuously, rapid strokes of her spoon throwing the slig about in hotter, deeper soup. The slig would occasionally resurface, moan increased until he eventually fell silent. Skillya pressed him to the bottom of the cauldron and smashed his body with the spoon, feeling it give until her spoon hit the bottom. Very good, very good. Moments passed. She reached a finger into the soup and tasted.

"Just as I thought... needed more body."

The other sligs backed away from her. Even the slig that had been bathing her was now using her large body as a shield. Each slig in the room had been wholly disturbed by the incident. While many were used to it, it was something that unnerved them, hearing their own kind slowly tortured and they weren't doing it.

Skillya snapped back to her senses. She pointed at the slig who had been bathing her. "You! Come here!"

The slig stopped and approached her front, trembling.

"I want you to take this message to Pox. Tell him I will comply with his wishes, as he no-doubt expects. But I want you to tell him I'll do so provided I get more funding for my soup. I want a ten percent increase. This will appease me. Now get out of here before I decide to cook you as well!"

"Right away, ma'am!" The slig didn't need a second warning. He turned tail and fled. The other sligs eyed him enviously.

-----

Pox frowned as he watched the charts on the large screen. This was not the first time the Glukkon had seen these readings. The line graph had been falling, and it terrified him. He stole a glance to the slig holding the remote control, showing and explaining everything to him. Why prices had gone up, why stocks had gone down, why slig lease prices were rising. Pox had heard it all. He flexed his lip, the expensive cigar rolling between them, locked between sections of teeth.

"So yer see boss," finished the slig. "I'm sure yer 've heard all this before." The slig, too, seemed a bit bored with this.

Pox exhaled slowly, tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. He peeled it off quickly, then pressed it against it again. Because Glukkons have suction cups on their tongue, he could stick it up to the roof of his mouth, then peel it off with a pop. It was a habit he'd developed early on in the university to cope with stress. Apparently it had helped. But with all his experience, promoted to CEO had apparently done nothing to help his reputation. What had to be done to save the economy was on his shoulders. Completely. And Pox knew it. The CEOs before him had all failed.

Pox turned to face the others in the room, a row of Glukkons - and a single Vykker, each on floating podiums in the center of the round room. Each was clothed in a differenct color robe. Some had gray skin, others brown. Some pins were lower on the suit, others were nearly as high as his own. Pox frowned at them. Their frowns were just as sour. While Pox was of higher rank, he was also nearly half their age and experience. However, Pox had moved up in rank almost completely by himself and held his own well amongst the intimidating Cartel.

"So," one of the Gluks said through clenched jaws. "What's yer plan, boss?" The word boss, Pox noted, was emphasized and lacked any respect it should've been given.

Pox straightened himself, fingers wriggling in his shoes, and held himself high.

"Well," he said slowly, careful not to drop his cigar. Speaking fast and holding a cigar in your mouth took a good bit of skill, and it was one he hadn't mastered yet. "I'm still thinkin'."

The Glukkon grimaced.

"Yer been thinkin' for two Odd-damn weeks - would ya just come up with somethin'?"

It was a bluff and an accusation. Pox knew it immediately and his expression remained unchanged.

"Of course, I'll just come up with somethin' like every other moron in this place has done. I'll come up with somethin' fast, and we'll all fold into nothin'." Pox felt his energy rising and the Glukkon who had spoken clammed up immediately. "I think it's best to take a little time, ya know? That way," he finished with a grin, "We can get this economy running again."

The Glukkon fell silent and Pox turned to the lone Vykker, who was tapping a stubby foot impatiently. Pox didn't show the discomfort on his face. Vykkers were scary enough to bother even the most collected Glukkon.

"Ya got anything t' add?" asked Pox almost grudgingly. The particular Vykker had been a thorn in his side for weeks, pushing the strangest of policies onto Glukkons that had nothing whatsoever to do with them. Several of these had made their way to Lady Margaret, who had dismissed most of them. But the Vykker was an important representative of his.. ..er.. it's race, so Pox had no choice but to let him stay. Normally, there were other races, but lately only Gluks had been showing up to these board meetings. And Pox was at head head of them.

"Well," hissed the Vykker in its oddly feminine voice, "Since our airborne facility is no longer functioning..." The Vykker paused for a moment before continuing, "Undergound Facility #027 has offered its services to house the next Mudokon queen. It's obvious the Mudokon is the greatest source of labor here."

Silence followed. Ten years ago, not long after Molluck had vanished, a treaty had been forcibly signed between the Industrialists and the Natives. The Natives had agreed to donate a certain amount of Muds for a price. Not only that, they needed to be paid. However, in recent years the amount sent had been steadily decreasing. To make matters worse, the economy was plummeting into a terrible depression. If it didn't slow its spiral soon, everything would fold. Pox knew that the Vykker's plan was probably the best one.

Each Glukkon exchanged glances, none wanting to trust the Vykker but realizing there was no choice. Pox realized he'd needed to speak or something, lest the others do so for him.

"Right, then," said Pox, inhaling through clenched jaws. He turned to face the slig holding the remote control, who was looking at him expectantly. "Who motions that we should return the queen to the Vykkers and breech the old contract?"

The Glukkons did not need a second inquiry. Each of them began hooting, hollering, cheering in a way that Pox had never heard them. Sometimes contracts needed to be breeched. Sometimes rules needed to be broken to do what was necessary to fix the economy. Pox sniffed. He felt pleased, even thoguh the idea wasn't his own. It was this feeling of respect and admiration that gave Pox his incentive to continue.

"If all are agreed, then, we'll start a plan immediately. We're done with that ridiculous document!"

The other Glukkons - and lone Vykker, began to cheer audibly.

"We'll get that queen back, even if we have to go in there and wipe those stubborn Natives off the face of Mudos! Now let's get plannin'!"

-----

We must once again travel, further west, not far from where we first began. The sun had long since risen and passed its zenith; afternoon had begun and was beginning to fade slowly into evening. Not much had changed. North of the mountain range, a great river cut through the trees, lazily sprawling out to the sea, miles away to the east. To the south, the mountains continued, sloping gently into the forest, where a great many caves were connected, forming a vast part of a Mudokon Village. The residing Mudokons were almost always busy, heading in and out of these caves and carrying food and other items in.

Deep within the cave was a mazelike network of tunnels known only to the Mudokons. In the center of these tunnels was a great cavern, where there rested a Mudokon of massive scale. The air within the cave was warm and oddly moist, but not unpleasant. The massive Mud had several others around her, some talking to her, others working around her great body and abdomen.

In ten years, Casey had swelled from normal size to her current state - a behemoth of a female Mudokon, with an abdomen several times its normal size. Every two hours, until another queen was produced, she would lay an egg. That egg would be carried off to a nursery, where it would be taken care of until it hatched. And in all those ten years, Casey was still nothing short of a bitch.

"My Odd, this job sucks," she hissed, resting her elbows on the cushion in front of her. She'd just passed an egg, and already it was gone. "You're so... so lucky Vula."

Vula looked a little older, and in ten years, she hadn't changed much besides. She stuck her tongue out at Casey, then returned to the parchment she was holding.

"You know it. Alright.. we've gotten a total of 4383 eggs since you first started layin', Casey," she said, grinning, folding her arms over her chest.

Casey groaned, "Yeah, no shit. Felt every damn' one of 'em too." She rubbed her temples wearily and sighed. "Oh well. A job's a job. Too bad I'm not gettin' paid for this."

Vula stretched, laughing to herself. But Casey's mood turned sour.

"Dammit," Casey snarled, "I want tea. NOW." Her mood, while it was genuine, was not directed at Vula. Vula had learned to brush it off and move on, and Casey understood.

Vula waved absently and walked off, going to go fetch her the requested mug full of tea. What Casey would've taken ovr that was drugs. She hated being Queen, but there was something about her that had matured and she'd become much more patient. Still, there were some days when she was back to her old self. It was understandable, however. Being forced to deliver eggs every day really got to you - especially since it did hurt a bit.

Vula left the network of tunnels and headed out towards the one place she could always go to pick up tea. Alf's Rehab. It had grown a bit but Alf was still his same old, cocky self. However, as she emerged into the sunlight she spotted a very familiar face.

Her old friend was sitting quietly outisde, back resting against a rock. The Mudokon didn't look much different, but there was something much more reserved about his personality. However, upon spotting Vula, he got to his feet, stretched lazily, and waved tiredly to her.

"Where have you been?" asked Vula, raising an eyebrow, not stopping. Varg quickly caught up to her.

"Around," he said. "Loads of work to bedone. The Monsaic Lines are undergoing construction and I've been out there helping them. Other things." He huffed. "I'm a bit tired, but uh. How's things been here?"

Vula rolled her eyes.

"Same, basically. Casey's up to her usual attitude again." Suddenly Vula grinned. "Still like your new job as drone?" There was something playfully sadistic in her smirk, as though she knew some dirty secret.

Varg glared dangerously at her, then rolled his eyes and groaned, "Well. I did the first time... but... then... well. It's a job," he finished, much in the manner of Casey.

Vula knew Varg really liked Casey, although he probably wasn't too keen on doing his "monthly duties" anymore. Still, the two got along well in spite of that rift in their relationship. When the two reached Alf's Rehab and Tea, Vula suddenly stopped.

"I meant to ask," she said. "Have you been by Jarlonia recently?"

Varg blinked, tilting his head at her.

"Eh... not in awhile... why?"

Vula shrugged and said, "Just wondering how Drog and Suzy and that other slig were. Haven't seen them... in years.."

Indeed, Vula had not seen her friends at all since they had last parted ways a decade before. As soon as they returned, her entire world had been filled with prepping the queen and helping to deliver eggs and in the end, she'd become the queen's confidante - her best friend. And now there was no time to see her old friends at all.

"Heh," Varg grunted, "I'm sure they're fine. Haven't seen much of 'em either, myself. Maybe one day you'll see them again."

Vula sighed, shrugging. "Well, I need to get Casey her tea before she tries to crawl out of there and eat me. See ya next time."

Varg waved casually, then the two parted ways.

-----

Not too far away, another old inhabitant lived. This one, however, was aging, and now unable to even rise from his hut. This well respected, old shaman was known in his days as Big Face. Big Face was forty-four years old, a full four years older than the average lifespan of a Mudokon. He was in relatively good health, although he was weak with age. It had yet to break his spirit, however, and he recieved multiple visitors daily. All of them offered him food, gifts, and daily blessings. His current visitor, this evening, was Abe.

Abe had long since ceased many of his adventures and for the first time he could rest again. However, these days had brought upon him an increasing restlessness. The Mudokon, now old enough to comprehend much of his own destiny, thought at last the prophecy involving him was over. He meditated, listening to the teachings of Big Face, who muttered to him.

The curtain parted, and Abe, distracted, looked back towards the door. Recognizing Vula, Abe raised a paw to gesture for her entry. Vula looked left then right, hesitated, then finally stepped inside.

"Well hey," said Abe, grinning as Vula sat down opposite him. "What are ya doin' here?"

Big Face muttered behind his mask. "That Vula? How ya doin'?"

Vula grinned and said, "Yeah.. I'm good. I came for a quick visit... that okay?"

"Fine by me," Abe replied. He didn't seem too bothered and Big Face didn't move, so Vula made herself comfortable.

"What's the problem?" Big Face asked quietly. "You seem troubled."

Vula replied simply, "I just have this weird feeling... like somethin's going on and no one's telling me. I don't know."

Big Face lifted his head slightly.

"When I feel that way, I always meditate. Sometimes I discover profound things, such as Abe's prophecy, and the one impending now."

Abe blinked.

"Another one?" he asked.

Big Face said, "I don't know it anymore, I'm afraid, but if I'm not mistaken all the signs are beginning to fall into place for it. I could be wrong of course, but it might be best for you to investigate."

Abe sighed almost wearily. Not again. He'd come face to face with many foes, and now he'd have to do it all again. Well, unless Big Face was going senile.

"What signs?" asked Vula suddenly.

Big Face yawned and exhaled, "Not now..I'm tired." He rolled over and fell asleep.

Vula growled.

"Cheeky little bastard.. always forcing us to look for things ourselves," she muttered.

Abe shrugged.

"I guess uh, I'm gonna go for awhile. Er.. talk to you later," Abe said simply before leaving Vula by herself.

Vula stepped out of the hut. She had been feeling very odd lately. This odd feeling had come over her. It was a mix of feeling incomplete, and feeling part of something bigger at the same time. She was detached from something and it made her uncomfortable. Staring into the setting sun, Vula walked away, frowning at her sudden, heavy heart.

END


	2. Intrusion

Disclaimer:  
Oddworld belongs to Oddworld Inhabitants. The creature known as a Silox belongs to me. :3

* * *

BOOK ONE: Static

CHAPTER TWO: An Interesting Intrusion

* * *

"Someone bring me that cart! NOW! DO IT!" The hoarse voice of Lady Margaret was full of malice as she barked orders out to the sligs surrounding her. They sprinted away towards the corner of the massive room - or at least the platform they were on - and grabbed the cart. "WILL YOU HURRY UP?!" hissed Margaret, straining. "I CAN'T STOP IT THIS TIME!"

The slig that had grabbed it shoved it forward, towards the hind end of the great Glukkon Queen. The slig fell in the process, hitting the solid concrete floor with a grunt. The cart slid right under the queen just as the egg slid out. It landed on the cushion with a soft plop, and was largely unharmed. Another slig grabbed the cart just as the egg hit it, panting with effort, and stopped it.

"Whoo!" he heaved, wiping his tentacles nervously. Overhead, Lady Margaret roared her impatience.

"YOU IDIOTS! YOU NEARLY LOST THAT ONE. BUMBLING FOOLS. GET ME POX ON THE FONE AT ONCE!"

The slig that had initially pushed the cart towards the egg was now off again - they were a bit short on staff, and right now he was the go-to guy and the cart-handler. He hurried for the fone, and quickly looked up the number, dialing it frantically.

"Uh.. yeah.. this Pox?! This is Lady Margaret's Hatchery." he asked in his nasaly voice, shivering at the growling, ragged breaths of the queen above him. "NO I'm not Lady Margaret! Well get 'im on the fone, yer lazy asswipe! Hurry up!" He attempted to sound commanding in spite of the panicked air in his tone.

Shuffling, then - "Yeah whaddaya want?!"

"This is Lady Margaret's Hatchery. I think uh... the Lady wants to talk to yers." The slig peered up at the massive she-Glukkon, her painted lips, yellowed with cigarette smoke, were peeled backwards in a deadly, terrifying grimace. Her menacing, long-fingered hand would reach out for the fone, and the slig handed it to her timidly.

"Pox," growled Lady Margaret, voice scarcely above a whipser. "I have heard you have a plan for fixing our little... problem. So tell me what it is."

Pox, who was leaning forward into the fone, held up to him by a slig, grimaced.

"Well," he said slowly, "We're gonna send down some troops to come and steal the queen back, and exterminate whatever Muds are in our way, mom."

Lady Margaret thought about this. However, her grimace did not fade.

"In order to do that you're going to need more troops than what you currently have. I like this plan." Her grimace would shift into a thoughtful, grim smile. A smile that sent chills up the observing sligs' spines.

"Well uh.. we got a few Big Bros around he--"

"That WON'T BE ENOUGH." Lady Margaret almost snarled. "You recall a decade before when a SINGLE Mudokon infiltrated and destroyed multiple factories? Now imagine what hundreds can do - especially defending their queen. No no no," she said, calming. "You are going to enlist the Vykkers."

On the other end, Pox shuddered.

"The Vykkers in lab #027 have been training someone who will function as their commander. I am going to contact them, and then you two will set up a meeting and work things out from there."

Click.

Pox's mouth was open, and his cigar had fallen from his mouth before he'd realized it - Lady Margaret had hung up on him. He fought back the growl that rose in his throat, and the slig immediately dropped the fone to reach for the cigar. However, Pox refused it, and waddled off towards his office window, peering down at his employees with a grimace.

Meanwhile, Lady Margaret informed her slig servant to get hold of the Vykkers Underground unit #027. He did so, grudgingly.

To the slig's disgust, someone answered the phone.

"Mmmf mm?"

"Get me someone that can talk, yer stinkin' Intern!"

"Mmm!? Mmmf mmf mmfmfmfmm!" Came the angry voice. And then, in the background, he heard something else.

"Toast, GET OFF THE FONE. I TOLD YOU NOT TO ANSWER IT YOU MORON!"

The slig blinked behind his mask. Lady Margaret, who could also hear the commotion, looked largely annoyed.

There was a strange sound, and then, the creepy Vykker voice made itself known on the phone.

"Yes, who is it?"

"This is Lady Margaret's Gluk Hatchery, and the Lady wishes ta speak with one of yers," said the slig, irritated.

"Well, this is Philip, Head of Live Weapons Research. Put 'er on."

Lady Margaret snatched the earpiece from the slig's hand and growled.

"Alright, you said you had a commander? CEO Pox has agreed to go through with the mission. I expect you two to figure out how you're going to do this, report back to me when you're finished. I want to hear the plan."

Philip frowned on the other end, fiddling with the fone cord with his long, clawlike fingers.

"Mmmhm, we have someone who would be perfect for the job. However!" Came his voice. "Remember that we are responsible for keeping your grandmother, Maggie, cryogenically frozen. Should any plans fail we will have to inform her. You know that."

Lady Margaret, in all of her terrifying splendor, faltered for a moment, fingers gripping her cigarette like a deadly vice.

"I understand this." The Glukkon queen used a great deal of effort to keep her voice clear and unfaltering. The slig beneath her cocked his head to one side. "What do you suggest then?"

"I'm no expert in politics, hun," said Philip idly, "But if I were you I'd give 'em an ultimatum for good measure."

"An ULTIMATUM?" snarled Lady Margaret, teeth bared dangerously.

"I didn't say you had to FOLLOW THROUGH with it. But look at it this way, toots. If ya tell her she's got a certain number of days to give herself up or you'll come get 'er yerselves," Philip said smoothly. "You take those days to prepare, we got a chance to avoid exterminating a VALUABLE SOURCE OF LABOR." His last words were insisting.

Lady Margaret's face went perfectly smooth. "Understood. Excellent idea. I'll inform Pox and have him write it up immediately." Click.

Philip, on the other end, rolled his eyes and returned to barking out orders to the Intern named Toast.

----~----

It was a small apartment; smaller than most Vykkers would live comfortably in. It had its own laboratory, fuzzle cage room, and living area as well. Philip and Francis Vykker rarely complained about personal space anyway, and weren't really in the living area too often. Said living area consisted of three rooms - a kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom.

Philip and Francis rarely slept, except on what they referred to as special occasions. During those special occasions, the other two occupants in the apartment made sure to clear out. The other Vykkers inhabiting the ship knew what it meant when they wandered around aimlessly together. Either a) they were out causing trouble or b) Philip and Francis were destroying the name of any sensible Vykker.

"You don't have to pitch a fit all day, do you?" The strange-looking creature asked Toast, who was surfing the internet. "Well, at least get something for your speedo collection - might make you feel better."

You could say she resembled a canine in the vaguest of senses. To be honest, she seemed to be a closer relative to a dragon or a kangaroo than a dog. At nearly ten feet tall the Silox stood, on a single, massive leg. Her tail, extending nearly as long as her own body, was equally thick, and she leaned on it for support as she studied what Toast was looking at. She did not seem to have a true upper lip at all, but a bony set of protrusions along her muzzle that vaguely resembled pointed teeth, the largest of which were right at the front. She seemed to have no color to her dark eyes at all, which remained slightly squinted as she studied the screen. The rest of her was quite slender, but she was by no means soft and pretty. She had horns all along a crest along her head, while two seemingly soft ears dangled behind her head, hanging down near her waist. Standing taller than her Vykker parents, the Silox was still quite a mystery to them.

"Achsah, quit staring at the computer!" a rather feminine voice echoed, "You'll ruin your eyes."

Achsah lifted her head, long tongue flicking out to lick at one of her eyes. The eye blinked to absorb the moisture as she stared at the Vykker poking its head into the open room.

"Heh, sorry, Mom." Achsah was not really sorry, but it seemed to satisfy the makeup-wearing Vykker.

"And your father wishes to see you. It's time for your checkup," the Vykker added, before disappearing. The Vykker wore an apron from the waist down. It fluttered in the breeze the Vykker created as he passed.

Achsah rolled her eyes and left Toast to his work. A few hops and she was into the lab room, which had been temporarily switched into a checkup room. She couldn't help but feel a small shudder as she studied the rusty tools openly resting on the stainless steel table. Nothing was really clean, but Achsah knew they weren't going to hurt her - much anyway.

Philip the Vykker saw no need to wear gloves. Generally, whatever he was working on was not worth any extra expense such as gloves. Besides, it was rare to find a glove he didn't rip apart with his claws. Sure, they could create them, patent them - but why? Vykkers saw no need for gloves, so no one would buy them. He had his back to his patient, who had heaved herself up onto the operating table and was staring at him boredly.

"Alright..." Philip began, approaching her and attaching a blood pressure cuff to her arm, "The time has come for your previous training to be put to the test!"

Achsah's ears pricked up and she listened eagerly.

"Your training is not yet complete, but as of now the Magog Cartel has decided that they no longer wish to follow the contract originally drawn out between the Mudokon barbarians and themselves."

Achsah, thanks to her surrogate parents, was always keeping up with the news. She loved watching the Magog on the March especially. It was Toast who generally didn't care about these events, but she often made him watch it anyway. She knew all too well about that contract, although she had been a pup when that had occurred. She didn't have the facial muscles to smile, but the softer tissue beneath her eye rose, giving her a slight amused expression.

"This means," continued Philip, "That you are going to play a large role in this. In fact, if all goes well, you will be promoted to commander of our armed forces if we end up going to war."

"A-all of them!?" Achsah stammered. "Are you sure I'm qualified for that?"

"Of course," said Philip. "It was I who recommended you."

For much of Achsah's life, it was her 'mother', Francis, who did most of the raising. Her father was generally very busy, so spending time with him was rare. When Philip removed the cuff, she clapped her hands together excitedly.

Philip swung around to face her and growled, "Which means there will be none of that! The next week for you is going to be hell, but when you come out, you'll be the perfect little spy!"

Achsah would've grinned. She could've gotten facial reconstructive surgery, but Achsah liked her appearance far too much.

"Now then, Achsah, you WILL take Toast with you." He ignored Achsah's glower at him. "He's driving me absolutely batty!"

Achsah groaned, "Whyyyyyy!? It's not fair! You know Toast isn't cut out for survival out there!"

In the other room, Toast had just made his purchase for a matching camouflage speedo and drill cap. He glanced behind him, hearing all too well what the Silox and Vykker were saying about him. He refocused his eyes to the computer, shoulders rather tense. Normally, he had his headphones on, blocking out any outside sounds. But one of the earpieces had begun to bother him, and he had taken his headphones off to adjust them. Being much older than she was, he felt a strange sense of anger build up within him. Why would she say that about her godparent? The one that had REALLY done all the work in raising her? It made him wonder what else she'd said about him in the past. It was true; he probably wouldn't have lasted a week - or even a day.

"I don't care - you're going to need someone else with you and Francis will probably skin me alive! And I'm certainly not going to do it. Urinalysis time."

Achsah was inwardly seething. She snatched the container out of his left set of hands and hopped off to another room.

This was always something Achsah didn't understand. Maybe Philip was so thorough in his tests and checkups with her because it was his way of showing he cared. But so far, he seemed like every other Vykker. It was more likely that he was making sure she was healthy enough to perform the tasks set out for her. He didn't stop referring to her as a 'specimen' until her sixth year. But then again, Achsah knew Philip wasn't all bad - he'd attempted to bond with her (likely at Francis' isisting) by taking her in the lab with him. Amidst the screaming of the Fuzzles, Achsah finally felt total acceptance.

Now that she was sixteen years old, she was an adult, and helped with much of everything. She assisted Philip and Francis in the lab, and when Francis felt the need to cook, she was in there to help and wash dishes. When Toast couldn't lift up a heavy box, she was there to bark at him until he found the motivation to do so. This wasn't to say that Achsah wasn't a troublemaker, oh no. For Achsah, the world had been full of things to explore and people to annoy, with Toast chasing her down the whole way. For the Vykkers - and other Interns - she'd been nothing but a nuisance.

Like the time she crept up on Toast in his sleep and got caught trying to steal his speedo. When he finally woke up, she was working it off of his other ankle. Francis and Philip peered out of the lab to see Achsah come crashing out of Toast's closet, with the Intern chasing after her in the nude.

But life wasn't always fun. She also remembered when she was old enough to understand just why her parents were different from the rest of the Vykkers in the underground lab. She'd witnessed her adoptive parents before a Vykkers council, and the strange, negative feelings. Her ears, incredibly sharp, could pick up the others whispering about her parents, about what an abomination they were. The normal Vykker knew no such things as love. The normal Vykker was cold, calculating, tolerating one another out of sheer necessity. But she had never seen anyone as friendly as her parents were to one another. While most Vykkers cast off empathy and love, her parents were almost doting to one another. It filled her with a sense of hatred for the other Vykkers, especially since Francis had insisted she should keep her mouth shut and do nothing.

Achsah returned from the other room, handing her father the container.

"So are we done yet?" she asked, rather irritable.

"Yes, yes yes, fine." Philip grunted. "Francis said she was working on setting up your training appointment, so go find her."

Irritated, Achsah hopped away to go find her 'mother'*.

----~----

Vula was thankful she'd arrived to bring tea to Casey when she had. The Mudokon queen was much calmer after that. Vula never asked Alf exactly what was in that tea, but it was perfect for relaxation and even Vula herself took a sip now and then when the stress got to her. Once Casey had calmed considerably, Vula made sure everything was in order before heading out once more. It was time to see another old friend.

Tom ignored the sweat beginning to collect on his brow as he hurriedly scribbed the note onto a piece of parchment. His glasses slid down his nose and he pushed them back up with a finger before continuing.

"Come on come on," he whispered, glancing back at the scroll he had written from. A glance outside, then back to the scroll. "HA!" He put down the feather pen he was writing with and rolled up the scroll, stuffing it back into the hollow book he'd produced it from and shoved it back on the shelf. The parchment he folded up and put into a sack over his shoulder. Finally ready to go, he hurried for the door of his hut and pulled aside the curtain.

To his surprise, Vula had her hand inches from his door knocker. Upon seeing him, there was a pause, and she dropped her hand.

"Tom! How's it.. where are you going?" she asked, eyeing the bag over his shoulder.

"Can't talk right now, I have to go, I'm terribly sorry." He nodded his head to her and hurried away.

"But wait it's...." Her shout went unanswered and she slumped, "...Kind of important. Gee thanks." She'd been about to walk away, but a glance behind her gave her an idea. "Well, he didn't say I couldn't find it myself."

Vula had her sights set on the various books and scrolls Tom kept in his hut. Thanks to Tom, many of the natives had learned basic reading and writing, although most had been against the idea from the start. Vula's reading skills were lacking, but she could make out many words - those she'd learned in RuptureFarms and besides. Still, as she used the spooce-powered lantern to examine the spines of said books, she found many words that she had never heard before.

The Anatomy of Elum by N. Testin Altract. No, not that one. A History of Mudos, by Nyf Ynderback. That one might work. The Housewives of Nolybab by Francine Vykker. Why on Odd would he have that? Vula, in a moment of distracted curiosity, snatched the book. Who could trust the Vykkers these days? She set the book on the table, alongside A History of Mudos. There was another book titled Abe's Oddysee, that Tom had written himself and was published. She took that one as well.

Seating herself at his desk, she opened Abe's Oddysee and flipped through it. It even contained a forward that Abe had contributed. Vula remembered when Tom had proposed to Abe about writing the book, saying it might help the world see just what RuptureFarms and the Glukkons were really up to. That book had backfired however, and not long after being put on the shelves, the Glukkon Queen had gotten hold of it and quickly had it destroyed. Every copy found was burned, and for weeks on end Glukkons began feeding lies to the general public, stating that the book was actually written by an animal rights organization and was meant to be propaganda. The Khanzumers fell for it, and while nothing happened to Tom, every other publisher closed their doors to him. The last copy was one he'd kept himself. Vula couldn't read most of it, but she already knew the story.

But there was no origin of the prophecy. Vula could not find who had written it. Had Tom been there, he might have been able to tell her. Had Big Face written it? Had it merely been made up and the entire Mud race, falling for it, created a series of events that ... no, Vula, don't think like that, you'll just confuse yourself. She put the book aside.

"A History of M-Mudos," she read out loud. "How about you?"

She hadn't gotten past the first page when she shut it again. It was all huge words, no pictures, and no dialogue.

"Ugh, this is going to be harder than I thought." Her eyes caught the last book. "Tom, I didn't think you could be that kind of Mud..."

Strange. It was lighter than usual. Vula balanced it on her three fingers. The book was huge, and yet significantly lighter than A History of Mudos, which wasn't nearly as thick or large. She was no physics expert, but she knew that a book of this size had to be at least as heavy as another one. When she opened it, she realized why it was so light. The middle had been hollowed out and in its place sat two rolled scrolls.

"What the..." Vula had been a friend of Tom's for over a decade, and he was always open, honest, and never hid anything from anyone. In fact, all of his scrolls, he had told her once, he left in special tubes that sat on his desk so they wouldn't fall apart - especially the old ones. Why would he hide scrolls like this? "He has been acting really strange lately.."

She stepped away from the desk and peered outside. Muds were passing back and forth, going about their usual duties. The village had increased in size and there were a few overcrowding issues. Thankfully, Muds, when not drugged, are slow egg-layers and the village would've been much worse otherwise. None of them seemed to be interested in Tom's hut, so she shut the curtain and went back to the scrolls.

Vula unrolled the first scroll, frowning at the strange way it was written. Not being a native, Vula really couldn't understand the ancient vocabulary. She wasn't even sure they were words. They looked a lot like pictures. True, the last decade she'd spent here was full of new experiences, but she had no idea how to read it. So, Vula rolled it back up and looked at the second one. It was much more understandable, but its words sent a cold chill down her spine.

It was a letter.

_'Yhalo2. _

Make sure you destroy both of these once you're finished copying it. Then meet me at the Bluebonnet. -- Vendo.'

"So it's a message?" Vula whispered, heart bouncing around in her throat. She swallowed heavily. What if Tom was part of some cult? Or worse, what if he was one of the Radicals? Vula did not know what the Bluebonnet was, but she knew what the word 'yhalo' ment. In the old tongue, it was pronounced 'oo-ah-loh', and it had two meanings. The most common meaning was the word 'life', or that which exists on a spiritual level. Its second meaning was 'to try'. Both meanings worked together, because when someone told you to try, they were insisting that you live too. And Vula's heart pounded, because the number two added on the end was telling her only one thing: 'Try again'.

"What the hell!'" she hissed, grumbling to herself. She had to show this to Big Face, but she wasn't sure what would happen if she did. Still, maybe he could translate the other scroll, at the very least.

Vula reached into her pocket for another scroll she'd placed in there earlier. It was about the same size as the other two, but the only information on it was a tea recipe she kept forgetting to give back to Alf. He wouldn't miss it. She placed it in the book and placed the hard-to-read scroll in her pocket. After returning all the books, Vula headed out to see if Big Face had enough energy to speak to her.

"Sorry ma'am," said a Mud, blocking the doorway when Vula tried to pass. "He's sleepin'. Doesn't wanna see anybody." He gave her a halfhearted shrug.

Deciding it wasn't best to insist lest she stir up gossip, she replied, "It's fine, really. When he gets up could ya tell him I wanna see him?"

When she left Big Face's hut, she thought about whom she might ask. Some feeling deep in her gut told her not to bring up the issue with Varg. Varg was Tom's closest friend - the two had been pals for a long, long time, and there was a slight chance he might know about it. And depending on what secrets that scroll held, it might be something that Vula wasn't supposed to know. While Vula knew Varg held her in high regard, he still preferred to be closest to Tom, and it was better that way.

The Almighty Raisin would've known, but he was much too far away and she couldn't leave the village. Heaving a sigh, she decided she could just wait awhile and see what would happen. Go figure, everyone she could've spoken to that might've known were unavailable. Just perfect.

----~----

Night had fallen long ago. The foothills were invisible in the blackness along the horizon. Overhead, the sky was a sea of stars. Shrykull's fingers spread across the sky, its smoky texture creating a strange, mystical feeling about the land.

A lone Mudokon trembled nervously, hugging himself as he tiptoed quietly out of the trees. The glowing red gaze of a slig peered after him. 'Take this to the Mudokons,' they told him, 'Take this parchment to them and see if they can read it.' He didn't understand why they would send him out in the unforgiving wilderness. Why him, when they could've made anyone else do it? He didn't know anything about the native barbarians. What if they killed him?

"Quit shakin' an' let's go!"

The slig stepped forward, shoving the nose of his rifle into the Mudokon's back. The Mud lurched forward, trying not to whimper.

Nearby, someone else was watching him. Another pair of glowing eyes was much deeper in the woods.

"Psst, Quark," the creature whispered quietly into his radio, "We got a live one, eh hehehe. Over."

The one known as Quark lifted his head slightly, pushing aside the tall grass. It was cloaked, as each member of his unit was, figure unrecognizeable - especially in the dark.

"Copy that," hissed Quark. "I'm in position. Over."

"You gonna nab it, or you want me to? Over."

Quark thought a moment, glowering at the slig and Mudokon as they ventured farther into the clearing.

"Let's both go. I'm going to need your rifle, over."

"Copy that. I'll move in from behind, over."

"Right." Quark paused just a moment, mentally readying himself. "Move."

The Mudokon's legs trembled. He had become more and more hesitant, clutching the parchment to his body.

The slig had had just about enough. "Gah! Keep movin', there ain't nothin' out here but-"

It only took a second for Vendo to sneak up behind his prey. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the slig's head. The slig went down with a grunt. The Mudokon yelped, instinctively cowering in the grass, afraid of what this cloaked figure might do to him. Vendo bent down, picked up the slig's rifle, and shouldered it.

"Who are yers?" he asked coldly. "And what the hell are yer doing in a place like this?"

The Mudokon did not answer at first. Vendo, realizing he wasn't about to get anything out of him, huffed in annoyance and stared at something else in the field.

"Excuse me," came Quark's voice. The Mudokon's ears pricked at a voice almost similar to his own. "My partner and I would like to know why you're out here alone, and with a slig?"

This seemed to calm the Mudokon some, and he stood.

"I'm looking for the M-Mudokons. The native ones. I ha-have a message for them. Do you know where they are?"

Vendo peered at Quark. Quark seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"Yes. It is rumored you will not be able to go in alone, however. They do not like outsiders." Quark chose his words very carefully.

While the Mudokon was grateful the slig accompanying him was unconscious, he was terrified of these two new strangers.

"H-how do I get there?" The Mud asked, glancing down at the parchment.

"It's not far," said Quark. "You -" he said, gesturing to Vendo, "Will take care of the body. You know what happened last time."

"Ah, shaddup," Vendo sneered. He inched over to Quark and whispered, "Still doin' the Bluebonnet thing, ya?"

"Wait for me," Quark replied. Vendo seemed to vanish into the grass, and Quark turned his attention to the Mudokon. "Come. I'll take you to the gates."

END

* * *

[*] - Philip and Francis Vykker are, if you haven't guessed, a couple of sorts. I thought this would be an interesting idea to convey the existence of a 'same-sex' couple. Vykkers are hermaphroditic, complete within themselves, in their mind. So they can't possibly understand why a Vykker could love anything, except animal cruelty. The existence of Francis and Philip's relationship is an abomination to the way they have always lived. Just as many humans believe same-sex coupling is wrong, and disgusting, the Vykkers feel the same way. Hopefully, my attempts for you to sympathize with Achsah and her 'parents' are successful. I've never seen Lorne Lanning cover this issue in his symbolism, so I thought I'd do it. C: Hope I didn't scar your brains too much with the thoughts of two Vykkers making out or having 'special occasions'. Mwahahahaha. I used Vykkers because most people who like same-sex couples (especially those who like yaoi and yuri) probably would wince at this and I needed something that not everyone WANTS to think about. When it comes to the 'special occasions' it can be whatever you want it to be. I'm not going to explain Vykker anatomy to you. x)

I'm also introducing new characters for awhile - so through the first few chapters you'll see new characters, all in their own mini-plots it seems. But they are all going to come together later on in the story! :D  
-- Lacy

* * *

[*] -- This will be a shout-out section, so if you review me with any questions or just want to say something I'd be all too happy to answer them here. :D


	3. Time Limit

Disclaimer: Oddworld and all its species belong to Oddworld Inhabitants, with the exception of Achsah. I'm just borrowing them for now.

* * *

Battle For Mudos

Chapter Three  
Time Limit

* * *

It was evening. Vula was holed up in her hut, perusing the scroll over and over again, desperate to find some connection to Tom and the words written there. A glance outside told her she'd have to check on Casey soon, but she was hoping maybe she wouldn't have to worry about that until much later. With a sigh, the Mudokon dragged both hands down her face and pressed her forehead against a wall.

There had to be something - anything that Tom might have done in the past. He was someone named Yhalo2, that was true. But what was Yhalo2? And why did he need to keep it such a secret? He'd been acting strange for nearly five years, but it wasn't obvious at all. In fact, there were several Muds in the past who had left the village to either look for their own or scout the terrian. Tom often went as a liason to other areas - Jarlonia in particular, and went with updates regarding Casey and the Muds living there.

Her heart was telling her something, something she really didn't want to think about. With a huff, she stuffed the scroll into her pocket and stomped out the door. She'd just have to speak with Tom directly, whenever he returned.

"Lady Vula!"

Vula perked up, ears twitching slightly as she tried to locate the source of the sound. Two Mudokons rushed to her. They were both Tomahawkers, massive clubs slung over their shoulders. In between them was a smaller, dirty, plainly clothed Mudokon. She'd never seen him before.

"Lady Vula," said one of the Tomahawkers, "We had some weird guy drop this fella off. He says he's from one of th' land muggers' factories."

The smaller Mudokon looked perplexed as he stared at Vula. Of course, Vula was used to being stared at. While she did look like a Mudokon, she tended to wear a wrap around her chest as well as her waist, and it was a wonder how she managed to remain slightly less slender than the normal, genderless Muds.

Vula snapped out of her own reverie and grinned. "Welcome to the Monsaic Lines."

Over time the natives had been generally more accepting of the rescued Mudokons, although they had never had any come alone. And Vula rarely dealt with newcomers anymore - unless there was something else going on.

"You Muds don't seem all that barbaric," the Mudokon mused, looking around. Then he clamped his hands over his mouth, whimpering.

The Tomahawkers shared a glance with one another, and one of them grunted, "He's got a message for the Queen."

Vula took the note the newcomer handed her and read it with a frown. It was not written in plain letters - likely as a direct insult from the Magog Cartel. But she could understand a few things about it. Her eyes widened as she read it.

"Th-thank you!" She said hurriedly and sprinted off to the caves.

Casey was nearly asleep when Vula came charging in.

"We've got a BIG problem!" Vula shouted, startling her.

Casey groaned, "What the hell? I haven't slept in forever and you come in here- what's this?"

"You can read, read it!" Vula sneered, holding it out to her.

Casey sent Vula a glare, then sleepily read the note. "Under these economic circumstances, our labor sources have come to an unfortunate halt. You will be given exactly thirty days to return our Queen to us, or face military action. We will destroy your native fortress, your villages, and your sacred Monsaic Lines - and we will take you back by force."

Casey scoffed. "Who do they think they are anyway?" She handed the scroll back to Vula. "Where'd you get this thing?" She studied Vula, searching for something.

Vula wrung her hands together at her waist.

"They sent a Mud here," she said slowly. "Someone dropped him off outside the gates."

Casey's accusing look vanished. "Send him in. I wanna talk to him."

Five minutes later, said Mudokon found himself standing before the gargantuan Casey. He gawked at her, stretching the stitches in his lips.

"What'd they tell you?" Casey asked, hands on her pudgy hips. "When they gave you the scroll?"

"Th-th... they said that I needed to take this to you guys... and in return I-I'd be free." The Mudokon looked away sheepishly, staring at the few other Muds in the large chamber.

"So they set you free even though they're losin' labor forces?" Vula mentioned.

The Mudokon nodded. "I dunno anythin' about that.. I just do my job. I don't even know what they meant."

"That must mean," Vula continued, "They're either lying, or they're confident we'll agree."

Casey had fallen eerily silent.

"Casey?"

"Where's Varg?" she asked.

"I don't know," came Vula's reply.

"He'd know more about the outside than we would," the queen spoke.

"Hey Mud," Vula asked the newcomer, who had begun to edge away from them. "What's yer name?"

"Mel."

"Okay, Mel. If you walk out of here and go towards the huge cave with the Mud statues near it , you'll find the Monsaic Lines. They're just down the path. You can see it from outside. Go inside that cave and someone will help ya."

When Mel disappeared, Vula turned to Casey. "Alright, what are we gonna do?"

"What can we do?" asked Casey. "It's not like I can actually get OUT of this cave anymore." She huffed, resting her elbows on her chest, and stared rather longingly towards the outside.

But then, Casey suddenly snapped out of her miserable moment. She was queen, dammit. She had to make a decision.

"Call the council, and get Big Face to come. I don't care if you have to drag him out by his hair, just DO IT."

* * *

More time had passed. Mudokons had gathered within the large, ancient cave. Many of them wore painted faces and bodies. Even Mel was among them, sporting a new loincloth and a Mudokon on either side of him, whispering to him. Big Face was present as well, although he was resting on a cot they had made for him.

The Muds were chattering excitedly. Vula, who had stationed herself in between Big Face and Casey, couldn't help but notice she was probably one of the youngest present. Abe was there as well, sitting on the other side of Big Face.

"Alright, enough," Vula ordered, but she was too quiet. "Guys!" Still too quiet. No one listened to her.

Casey coughed. "QUUUUIIIIIEEEEEET!"

The resulting silence filled the cave, and each Mudokon turned to face Casey. Vula sighed to herself.

"Alright, as you've probably heard we've been given an ultimatum," Casey began.

"What's an ul...ti-...mato?" One Mud asked.

"I'm getting to that," the queen replied. "Those land muggers have sent us a message. They want me back and we've got thirty days to get me there. If we refuse to listen, they're gonna destroy everything, and drag us back there."

The Muds began to chatter again.

Big Face coughed, sitting up slowly, with someone's assistance.

"I believe we may have no choice," he said slowly. "We are a peaceful race.. and as it stands we would have no chance against them. Their numbers and weapons are far too great."

Abe bit his lip, rubbing the stitches that had begun to fade with age. "Well, what are we gonna do?"

"We have to get out of here!" someone shouted.

"Well what about the queen?"

"We can't just leave her, or the whole thing starts over again!"

Big Face turned to Abe. The huge mask had long since been replaced with something a little smaller and lighter. He no longer looked like Big Face to them - but a shell.

"I don't wanna fight anybody," a Mud muttered. "Maybe we should just go back."

Abe stood slowly, knees shaking slightly, and spoke to them.

"After all that effort we put into gettin' ourselves out here? We're just gonna walk into their open a... er. Well, you know!? I ain't goin' back. I'd rather run than do that."

"Well, Stitch Lips, tell us how to get her outta here!" Alf had spoken from the crowd.

"Yeah, and even if we do, where do we go?"

The situation looked grim indeed. For some time the Muds talked among themselves, and no real plan was ever achieved. Big Face had begun to get tired, so three Muds approached him and lifted up his cot. The crowd parted.

Abe stared after them. A bell had begun to chime in his head and he hadn't figured out why yet.

"'Ey, Vula," he said, glancing after the masked elder.

"Hm?"

"There's somethin' about that-- I don't know!" Abe smacked himself in the head. "You see it?"

Vula frowned. There was something peculiar about how they were carrying Big Face. "Yeah, but.."

"Waitasec!" Abe shouted. Those carrying Big Face stopped. "We can carry the queen out with a...a.. that thing!" He pointed to Big Face's cot.

"Kinda small ain't it?" Alf mused.

His joke went largely ignored, for the Muds had begun to chatter again.

"We still gotta get her out of the cave!" Vula pointed out.

Big Face lifted his hand slowly as they carried him out. "Abe.. Vula, come with me."

The two Muds followed him back to his hut, the meeting adjourned, and the Muds carrying him left the room.

"There is a place you can take her," he said slowly. "But it will take me some time to remember. Until then, send a messenger to ..to Jarlonia. Tell the two sligs working there that there is an emergency, and they must return with builders, carpenters, the lot. Tell him to take Ralph."

"Are you sure Ralph can do that? Jarlonia's pretty far," Abe spoke.

"If I recall, isn't she the fastest Elum in this area?" Big Face asked.

No one ever questioned why they named a female Elum Ralph. She was rather hard to control, but she loved to run and she did it well.

* * *

Way before dawn, an Elum sprinted out of the Monsaic Lines. Lou, her rider, focused on his goal - the mountains. Ralph snorted, kicking up dust in her wake.

"Alright," he shouted, "We gotta get to Jarlonia before tomorrow night. Let's go!"

The mountains were still far, and evergreen forests populated much of the terrain. However, Ralph was agile, dodging the trees easily. She made it difficult for Lou, however. By dodging by only a marginal distance, Lou scraped his knees on everything she was able to dodge. He was just lucky he was a good rider, or he might've fallen off.

The sun rose slowly, and Riley continued to run. Her black tongue hung out one corner of her mouth. The forest opened out to a wide plain, and Lou gasped in awe of the mountains on the horizon. They were still far away, but he was thankful that they were there. Tiny as they looked, they only covered a small portion of the horizon itself. He wouldn't reach them at least until tonight.

The two galloped on through the day, hardly stopping unless they were certain it was safe. The mountains grew larger and Ralph was growing winded. Lou urged her on, until they came to a creek. Here Ralph simply stopped running, getting her fill of water.

Realizing she wasn't going any farther for now, he dismounted and got himself a drink as well - upstream of course.

He managed to get her going half an hour later, although she was a good bit slower than before. By midnight, he was starving, but he didn't care. The mountains were easily an hour's run away, but in his heart he did worry a little about Ralph. She could run like hell, but could she make it all the way in half the time?

When they reached the mountains, Lou was overjoyed. While it was true that Ralph was exhausted, and they still had the moutnains to cross, there was something special waiting for them.

"I don't believe it," he said, "They opened a path."

Jarlonia had indeed been opened up to the public - the mountain road was easy to navigate and it meant he wouldn't have to run.

He slowed Ralph to a walk and stepped onto the road. The road itself seemed to span into the opposite direction and he didn't feel like seeing where it went. Thankfully, the road through the mountains had relatively light traffic, and it only took him a few hours to cross. He smelled the ocean long before he saw it.

Coming around a turn, he spotted Jarlonia off the edge. Ralph, who hated heights, tried dragging him over towards the side of the road that wasn't empty air. Lou didn't mind, and simply let her go at her own pace for the time being.

Jarlonia had gotten much bigger. He himself had never been there, but he had heard stories of it being a small, coastal down. Even as he passed the entrance sign along the river street, he noticed how nice everything seemed to look. The docks had been renewed, port traffic was increased. It made him feel strange.

And the slogs! Nearly everyone had a slog, it seemed. They were being walked on leashes, which was something nearly unfathomable to him. In fact, the town was so overrun by barking he couldn't hear much else. It made him uncomfortable.

"E-excuse me!" Lou hailed the attention of a creature that vaguely resembled a two-legged dog.

"Hmm?"

"Y-you happen t' know where I might find a couple'a sligs?" he asked nervously.

The creature was taller than he was - in fact, Lou found he was eye level with him only when he was sitting on Ralph.

"You could check the tavern 'round here, and th' Kennels. It's a' only place I know where ye might find a slig."

Then the creature shuffled off, leaving Lou to his thoughts.

It took him nearly an hour to find the kennel. No one in the bar had seen either slig in a few days, and Lou was getting desperate. When he finally reached it, Ralph looked rather tired, so he dismounted and knocked on the door.

He heard a good amount of shuffling, until the door opened. The slig looked rather old. His green-yellow skin had begun to fade, and he looked reasonably dry. He was rather large for a regular slig, but otherwise seemed no different than the others. He seemed to pause when he saw the Mudokon.

"'Ey Drog, we got a Mud," he said, glancing back behind him.

The infamous Drog stepped out to peer at the Mud before him. Drog had grown as well, and was practically in his prime. Years of living away from the putrid air of RuptureFarms had brought out his full physical potential. His skin was as green and healthy as good spinach, his forearms quite well-developed, and he still seemed to wear pants. On both sligs, they were polished and kept very clean. Only Drog wore a mask - one he'd made himself. Grob was not wearing one, something that bothered Lou intensely.

"So we do," said Drog. He seemed to hesitate for a moment. "So uh, what'd ye need?"

"There's been some trouble."

* * *

"Toast, hurry the hell up!"

The Intern grumbled to himself behind stitched lips and scratched angrily at his arms. He and Achsah had been traipsing the woods all morning and had just gotten off the mountain. Achsah, who was well-used to traveling, could hop without tiring, even through the trees. But the indoorsy Intern had no idea how to survive. He'd already fallen into poison ivy and his ankle stubs were killing him.

Achsah halted, turning to glare at him. "Didn't you get your training in? Come on."

Toast glared dangerously at her.

"It is NOT my fault you're out here," Achsah retorted, as though he had said something. "I was forced to bring you along. And if you weren't so lazy you might not be so bad off." The Silox snorted and hopped away from him.

"Besides," she added, "We're nearly there."

Achsah was sporting a pair of goggles that Philip had fashioned for her. They were similar to infrared goggles, save for their actual function. Silox have trouble dealing with bright, natural light, and her goggles were fitted to her so she could see properly in the outdoors.

Neither of them were armed, but both knew there would no doubt be wildlife about. Being mid-day, Achsah suspected there would be something out there.

As they passed under a particularly short tree, a small squeak resounded and both of them froze. Achsah whirled to find that Toast had stepped on something and was wiping his foot off hurriedly. Then she saw what he'd stepped on.

"T-T-Toast," she hissed, glancing upward.

Suspended among the branches were fleeches, snoring. One of them twitched above them. Achsah bent over so her hands were on the ground, guiding her movements a bit like a kangaroo. Toast gulped, inching after the Silox.

Squeak. Plop.

Toast let a muffled yelp as one of the Fleeches landed on him, slapping him with its tongue. The other Fleeches began dropping, and suddenly Toast was surrounded. Achsah groaned and reached for him, ignoring their painful tongues, and dragged him away.

"Just run!" she ordered, pushing him forward and hopping after him as fast as she dared. The Fleeches did not give up the chase at first, and it was nearly half an hour later when they escaped.

Panting, they ducked down under a Fleech-less bush and rested.

"Okay," Achsah pulled out their map of Mudos. "We're still mostly on track...just a little farther south and we'll hit the point where the forest starts to get really ugly."

"Mffmm?"

"Yeah, uglier than we've already seen. I thought you trained for this?"

"Mmmff!"

"Well start acting like it." Achsah rolled the map and stood. After helping Toast up, she turned towards the South. "When we get out there, we just keep an eye on them, and report to the boss, understand?"

"Mhm."


	4. Assistance

**Author's Note:** Here's chapter four, finally. Updates will probably be very slow now that I am focusing more on my artwork. But I am still going to do what it takes to finish this story. Please, if you're reading this, drop me a line! I'd love to hear feedback. It gets a little lonely in here when no one is reading. D;

* * *

Chapter Four - Assistance

Vula couldn't understand Varg.

For the ten short years she had known him, he was just a puzzle she could never figure out. When they had first met, Varg had been nothing short of an asshole, refusing to speak frankly with her and almost virtually ignoring her. Even when they had returned to the village after rescuing the queen, he had still been rather secretive. However, he'd warmed up considerably after Casey had gone into the birthing cave for the last time.

She remembered that evening. The drones had all gathered outside the cave, waiting patiently for Big Face to call them in. She found out later he'd gone in before the others to make sure she was ready. This was long before she herself had taken over all queen-related matters. In the beginning, she'd thought the shaman was some kind of womanizer or a pervert, but this turned out to be completely untrue. In spite of his occasional babbling, he was a hard-core spiritualist.

When Varg and the other drones had exited the cave, Vula was rather appalled to see how relieved they looked. In fact, she was so disturbed she located Big Face and asked him just what had transpired. He had of course told her, which bothered her even more. But it had done one important thing - because of that knowledge she now held, she no longer envied Casey for being queen.

She had lucked out too. Because Vula, like Casey, was female, the two had become very close. This relationship shifted between professional and personal, and although the two occasionally argued, things were rather stable. She liked her position, although it was rather stressful. She had become Casey's representative because the queen herself could not leave that cave. This was largely why, when any issues related to the village were brought up, she was there.

"Hey," said a masculine voice, startling Vula out of her thoughts. The female Mudokon shoved the scroll she'd been staring at up her loin cloth and turned to face Varg.

Varg raised an eyebrow at the way she was standing. She was holding her legs together, clutching the front of her loin cloth, and smiling in the most innocent way she could manage - or as though she'd just won the Nolybab Lotto.

"What..?" Varg asked after a moment, unable to stand the silence.

"Nothin'!" Vula piped. "What'cha want?"

Well, okay then. "Ran into a Mud named Lou on the way back from ... Jarlonia. He was on the way back from Jarlonia, he said." Varg's sudden sentence morph surprised Vula. Or was it an accident?

"Uhm.. where is he?" Vula asked.

Varg pointed back behind him. "Down at the lines. You should've seen his Elum. We had to practically carry her back home."

Vula winced. She hated animal abuse of any kind.

"She's fine, just getting some water. But Lou says he'd like to see you." Varg folded his arms over his chest and backed away. "And do you have to go or something?"

"Nope! I'll be there in a second, hahaha!" Vula managed to force a laugh out.

Varg rolled his eyes and walked off, feathery hair flowing behind him.

----

Vula, who had stopped outside the Monsaic Lines to answer the questions of a few young, curious Muds, spotted Mel, their newest arrival, sitting outside as well. Once the younger Mudokons were satisfied, she decided to take a moment to approach him.

"How've you been?" she asked.

Mel, who had been trying and failing to meditate, sighed and looked up at her. She noted that he'd had his stitches removed. "Fine.." Finally, he was unable to contain himself. "What's.. what's with you?"

"I was gonna be a queen, but I can't be." Vula cut him off and asked, "So uh, can you tell me about just HOW you got here?"

Mel stood, dusting off his loin cloth, and inched closer to her.

"Well.. these weird guys came.. guys in hoods or somethin'. One was real short n' the other was bigger'n' me. Killed off the slig escortin' me an' one of 'em brought me here," Mel finished, shrugging.

"Oh? Well..." Vula licked her lips and thought. Maybe.. "Did they say anything to you?"

"Uhm.. one of 'em mentioned something about a ..flower or somethin'. But I don't remember anything else."

"Alright, well, good luck," Vula told him, walking back into the large, open cave. A flower...? No, it couldn't be that. That had to be some kind of symbol for something.

Her thoughts shifted as soon as she saw Lou. He looked exhausted, dirty, and on the verge of collapse. But still, he was standing. Or rather, he was leaning up against another Mudokon.

"Lou!" Vula shouted. "News?"

"They're coming," said Lou. "It'll be a day or two, but they're coming and they'll bring some good carpenters and... uhm.. can I go nap now?"

Vula nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing... said they were bringin' the key to gettin' Casey out of the cave."

"Okay... did you um... did you see Drog?" Vula asked timidly.

"Uh.. which one was he again?"

Vula thought a moment. "Uhm.. the younger one." She barely remembered Grob, but Drog's image was still fresh in her mind.

"Y-yeah, he wa-"

Suddenly, Varg gave Vula a gentle thwop on the head. "We don't have TIME for that. Let's get the message to the queen - NOW."

-----

"Vula, have you ever heard of the Mudoncho tribe?"

"A little, but isn't that a rumor?" she confessed, staring at Big Face's masked figure. The older Mudokon was propped on one elbow, regarding her.

Abe was seated beside Vula, also having been summoned. It was becoming a regular thing these days.

"Not at all," Big Face replied. "A long time ago.. if I remember correctly, the Mudoncho tribe, also known as the Mudameechee. They worshipped the Meech and were considered to be the black sheep of our tribe."

When the others remained silent, he continued.

"This led us to some disputes with them, and eventually, they left their native grounds.. and now they reside far to the northwest. I was still young then, but they were said to be driven in a river city deep underground, near the Mongo River."

"Why are you telling us this?" Vula asked.

"This is the only safe place I can think of for the queen. You must hurry though - the stress of traveling could kill her."

"Why do we gotta run?" Abe groaned. "I'm sick o' runnin'." He slapped a large hand to his face.

"If you must fight back," Big Face said stiffly, "Then do so. But not until the queen is out of their reach. If you have something to protect, it can make you stronger."

Vula and Abe exchanged rather skeptical glances.

"So you're telling us to to take her to a place that MIGHT exist?"

"It is our only hope. Staying here is suicide."

"And so is running!" Vula spat. "We'll be sitting MEEP out there!"

"But there is a chance," said Big Face, "That they will help you. Our tribe alone will not stop them - you know that. Our shamans are no match for their guns, and not in this place."

Vula stood slowly, as it seemed that Big Face wasn't going to say anything more.

"But," Big Face said finally, "There is one last thing.. I haven't told you about the River."

"And that is?"

And so Big Face told them his secret. When they heard it, their eyes widened considerably.

"That particular location can be your trump card, but only use it if there is no other choice. Understand?"

-----

Tom and Vula worked together over the next day forming the blueprint for the caravan. It took them several hours to settle upon a design that would be both large enough to house the queen and easily able to move over the rough terrain. Tom even developed a prototype of a shock absorber for the caravan.

However, when they showed the design to the rest of the tribe, the response was mixed.

"How are we supposed to build somethin' like that?!" one of the Muds shouted. "You think we got the skills fer that?"

Tom stood stiffly, pointing at the map.

"You can't be serious!" he retorted. "You're not even gonna try, are you. I can explain it all to ya - how the shocks work, and everything!"

"Look, man," said a Mudokon. It was Alf. "We wanna help - we really do, but you gotta figure - we ain't got the tools to build that stuff, and half the crap here was built by our ancestors! And not to mention - " Alf pointed out- "Considerin' we got less than a month to get this thing built - and who knows where we're gonna go - how are we gonna get it done in time?"

Alf stood toe to toe with Tom - but he did have a point, and Tom knew it. As many Mudokons as they had, not all of them could just stop whatever they were doing to build Casey's caravan. There were hunters, foragers, those who were responsible for taking care of Casey's eggs, patrol Muds, and shamans. And each of them had to do their own jobs or the village would fall apart.

When Tom didn't answer him, Alf spoke yet again, "Well? I've got a rehab to run and patients to take care of. How about you?"

"Alf!" Vula said quickly, "Did you ever think maybe we're all making sacrifices to get this done?"

"Well, of course!" Alf replied. "I wouldn't be here otherwise. I'm sure we'll help if we can - what I'm sayin' is - how can we get it done in time with our limited knowledge, experience, and resources? Ya gotta think these things through!"

"Well, a-at the River City--"

"You can't TELL me Big Face is spoutin' off his crap again!" Alf groaned. "The guy's gettin' old, and no disrespect - but he's been sayin' this stuff for a long time. We've been all up and down that river - there ain't no 'river city!'"

Vula fell silent. Oh, where was Abe? Probably helping Varg - or maybe Varg had gone on one of his wild escapades again. He'd become increasingly unreliable lately.

"So what are we supposed to do?" Vula asked at length.

"How about stop shittin' yerselves and lettin' us help?!"

The coarse voice was so familiar that it was like a dart had struck her right in the chest. She snapped her head up to see none other than Drog. Beside him was Grob, and behind them, was at least a dozen creatures of all shapes and sizes. Most of them carried bags, boxes, and other tools. Varg stood with them, apparently having let them in.

Oh, how Vula wanted to greet Drog as she had before, but something held her back. Maybe it was that they'd grown too far apart. Or maybe it was the way Tom didn't seem surprised at all to see him. Drog had changed - Vula could see that. She remembered the slig beside him, but only just, and the two steemed strangely confident - even when surrounded by their natural enemies.

In fact, Drog hardly seemed to notice that she was there. The group was invited into the Monsaic Lines, were the entire tribe mingled. Once it was decided they would begin construction the next day, Vula left to go find Casey. She was feeling utterly troubled.

----

"So," Achsah hissed, "That's where the entrance is."

She would've grinned if she could. Beside her, Toast merely stared down into the valley.

"Mfmmm, mff," he grunted, watching her inquisitively.

"Easy," she sneered. "We should've hopped that ride with all those travelers, buuuut." Then, Achsah began to laugh. "They've got tools... oh yes, they must be going to try and move the queen. What idiots."

"Mmmf!?"

"I get in," said Achsah, "By blending in. We're not going to defeat them - even if we suddenly ambush them while they're on their way, there's no guarantee we'd avoid stressing the queen to death. We can't have that. So."

She sat back, readjusted her goggles, and stared at Toast.

"Hit me," she said.

"Mm?" Toast looked confused.

"Ugh, you're hopeless." Achsah rose slowly, brushing herself off. "We'll wait until they set out. THEN!"

Achsah shifted, pointing a short finger into Toast's chest - "Then, we're going to do things MY way."

* * *

End


End file.
